


No More Secrets

by oohshinyfangirl



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 23:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oohshinyfangirl/pseuds/oohshinyfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p> So, this probably needs a little explanation. Long ago, when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, I wrote fanfic, pretty exclusively in the X-Files fandom, under another pseudonym. It was the dawning of the internet and alt.tv.x-files.creative was where all the fanfic was, which ought to give you an idea of how long ago this was. But there was this one little odd story from another fandom (Twin Peaks) that I written and really loved that had no real venue, no place to live. I put it up on my geocities page and let it sit. Well, obviously, geocities is no more and once again there was no venue for this story. I'm still fond of it and because there's a dearth of Twin Peaks fanfic - there really should be more - I thought that maybe there could be someone out there who might be interested. </p>
    </blockquote>





	No More Secrets

**Author's Note:**

>  So, this probably needs a little explanation. Long ago, when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, I wrote fanfic, pretty exclusively in the X-Files fandom, under another pseudonym. It was the dawning of the internet and alt.tv.x-files.creative was where all the fanfic was, which ought to give you an idea of how long ago this was. But there was this one little odd story from another fandom (Twin Peaks) that I written and really loved that had no real venue, no place to live. I put it up on my geocities page and let it sit. Well, obviously, geocities is no more and once again there was no venue for this story. I'm still fond of it and because there's a dearth of Twin Peaks fanfic - there really should be more - I thought that maybe there could be someone out there who might be interested. 

I wear no face but my own.

Barefoot, I drift silently through the stygian darkness like a disconsolate ghost, traveling the deserted wooden chambers between the rooms, from one spy-hole to the next. I dispiritedly look in a few rooms, watching people together, interacting with one another, being part of a whole. Watching, because I am so <lonely> set apart from them. 

Usually, I have no compunction about watching people secretly, but the fish-eyed view of the actions and conversations that normally intrigue me is flavorless, and watching seems deceitful. I give up taking the plywood from the peepholes and just wander, instead.

He says that secrets are dangerous things.

Well, Special Agent Dale Cooper has at least one secret. A secret he keeps very well.

He cares about me. For me.

************************

"Audrey's absence touches me in ways I could not predict. I find myself thinking not of clues, or of evidence, but of the content of her smile."

Barefoot, I pace my room restlessly, like a caged panther, as I listen to my own voice. I've become so good at lying to myself about Audrey that I'm astounded by what the unguarded words reveal to me. They confirm what I've been denying, what my heart already knows.

I click off the tape recorder.

What I feel for Audrey is complex. Layered. It's not just sexual desire, although there _is_ great deal of that. Her beauty tends to distract me from what makes her so intriguing, those things that make up the content of her smile: her appealing ingenuousness,  her refreshing directness, her sharp, quick mind. Behind that alluring smile lies a young woman who is waiting for Prince Charming. 

I laugh jaggedly. Hell, I'm no prince.

If it was just wanting, I could suppress it easily. It has become second nature to me. Mastering the desires of the body is a skill learned along with target practice as one that must be perfected lest you fall, unaware, in the field. But it's more than lust. It's a hunger to know and to be known, a soul-deep longing to no longer be alone, but to be part of a whole. It's caring. I am staggered that I came so close to losing her before we had the chance to explore what might be. 

"Damn!" I sit down abruptly on the bed, my legs giving way. "Audrey." My voice breaks on her name and I toss the recorder aside, sinking my head into my hands. 

************************

I end up where I knew I would. On the third floor. In the passage beside room 315. 

His room. 

I stop and stare at a spot on the wall, the spot that holds the concealed spy-hole  All that stands between my eyes and Dale Cooper's privacy is a piece of plywood.

I whisper his name, letting the taste and shape of it fill my mouth. My tongue touches my top teeth and then slides between them as I form the single syllable. "Dale."

I close my eyes and sway against the wall. Oh, God. I won't call him that aloud, not unless he invites me. I had prayed that he would come for me and take me away from One Eyed Jack's, prayed so hard.

I had no doubt that he would.

And he did. He came rushing to my rescue like every schoolgirl fantasy I've ever had.

Slunk deep in a soporific haze of heroin, I had been dreaming of him. Dreaming of his jet hair and strong hands. Dreaming of his eyes, so penetrating and direct; his eyes filled with me, with desire for me, a desire so sharp and urgent he battles against it. His eyes tell me he wants me, cares for me, no matter what he says. I can't believe they lie.

Dreaming of his voice, intimate and husky. "Audrey, that rightward slant in your handwriting indicates a romantic nature. A heart that yearns -- be careful."

But I don't _want_ to be careful. Not with him. I want to be careless, reckless. Wanton.

My heart _does_ yearn.

Was he warning me? 

Or was he warning himself?

At One Eyed Jack's his voice drew me back from a precipice hanging over an abyss, so deep that it was no color -- from a long, slow slide into madness where my father puts his hands <so heavy> on my throat <it hurts me> and takes the one thing I've been able to keep pure.

Then, when I opened my eyes, there he was -- his strong, long-fingered hand warm and steady against my cheek, an anchor for my whirling thoughts, so <tender> gentle, his voice resonant with a caring that was palpable.

"Audrey."

I shiver. The remembrance of the way he says my name brings tears to my eyes.

"I'm gonna take you out of here now."

I could almost believe that he loved me. Almost. 

All that's left of the Audrey from before is shadow, an empty vessel. The callous calculation is gone, stripped away by the selflessness of my Special Agent. He could have died trying to get me back, and I know he risked it because his sense of honor wouldn't let him do less. I wish it would have been because he was worried about me, because he would be incomplete without me, because I was the woman of his dreams. But I've got to stop fooling myself. 

My very frayed sense of decency is due to his care in not shredding my already tattered heart. It _is_ possible to live with a broken, bleeding heart that's been torn, still beating, from your chest. I learned that from him. From Federal Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Dale Cooper.

He's my knight in shining armor, my tall, dark, oh-so-handsome stranger. My Special Agent. I owe him my life. I'm sure they would have killed me once I outgrew my usefulness. And, because of him, I didn't lose my virginity to my father or anyone else. I owe him for that, too. The least I can do to try and repay my debt is to respect his privacy and his wishes. 

I swipe at my cheeks, then clench my hands into fists and turn away without touching the wood, leaving the hidden passage. I pause, just outside his door. The hallway is still. Empty.

Like me.

I lay one hand on his door, close my eyes and pray. One more chance. Please.

A muffled, choked sound escapes me and my hands fly to my mouth. 

************************

A faint sound from the corridor outside my room makes me raise my head. Lately in Twin Peaks, hesitation is the type of thing that can get a person killed, so I grab my gun from the bedside table. Stepping lightly and quickly to the door, I yank it open, leveling the gun at the person standing there.

************************

Time stops. 

For the second time, Dale Cooper is pointing a gun at me.

Standing in the doorway to his room, wearing only a white tank undershirt and a pair of plaid boxers, an amazing mixture of longing and open, raw desire plain to see on his features, he seems so young, like a high school boy caught looking in a window at his heart's fondest wish. He uncocks the gun and lowers it to his side. 

"Audrey!"

Then his eyes shutter and his face becomes blank and expressionless. All hope is gone. 

I take a shaky step back.

************************

Her face is bare of makeup, pale and lovely. Violet shadows beneath her blue-gray eyes are testament to her recent ordeal. Her eyes are startled, hopeful, luminous with tears under the perfect arch of her brows, and her mouth is trembling. 

She takes another step back and I am unable to stop my hand from reaching out to touch her tear-stained cheek.

"Audrey." I take in a deep breath and let it out. <When two events occur simultaneously...> "Come in."

She looks down at the floor, then up at me through her wet lashes. Shaking her head slightly, she says, "I--I'm sorry, Agent Cooper. I know...I mean, I didn't mean to distu--"

************************

I have never been so wretched. This is torture! His hand on my face only makes me want to die, because it will never be more than that. The full realization of what will never be makes my nose sting with fresh tears and I have to run, have to leave before he sees that I have no defenses against him.

No more secrets.

************************

Her intention to flee is telegraphed plainly by her expressive eyes. Before she can even start to turn, I take her upper arm and pull her into the room, closing and locking the door behind her.

That thought keeps resonating as I put the gun down on the dresser and draw her into my arms, rocking her as she sobs. I've never done that before. Bureau protocols be damned. I've locked the door.

Locked it, putting a barrier between us and the world, between the warring desire to keep her safe while knowing that the person she is least safe from on earth is me, since I can't stop now.

Can't stop.

Won't stop.

************************

I return his embrace tentatively at first, then fiercely, my hands drawing his lean body closer to my own, wishing I could climb inside him, draw him around me like a blanket. I'll take what I can and live remembering this moment forever.

"Audrey. Shhhh. It's all right."

His arms are banded around my shoulders, one hand buried in my hair, the other stroking, warm and strong, at the back of my neck. He smells wonderful, soap and starch and male and oh, God, I don't want to let him go.

************************

As her tears taper off to sniffles, I become acutely aware of our state of undress, of the intoxicating scent of her. Her long gown, black silk that caresses her breasts and hips, is sliding across my bare thighs and calves and all the hairs on my body stand on end at the delicate whisper of touch. The thin material of my undershirt is no barrier to the softness of her breasts pressing into my chest.

She is shaking.

So am I.

She draws back slightly, her hands sliding around and relaxing on my chest, fingers splayed, looking up into my eyes. "Agent Cooper--"

A tear is caught in her lower lashes. I raise my hand and brush it away. "Dale," I say.

The die is cast.

Her lips twitch and then form into the most exquisite smile I've yet seen from her. "Dale."

I can't stop wanting her, wanting to breathe her very breath, wanting to feel her trembling in my bones, wanting to see the clarity of her eyes as we share the gift she's been guarding so carefully. I smile down at her and am struck once again by the contrasts that are Audrey Horne: a young face with old eyes, naiveté tempered with a surprising maturity, inner purity masked by an outward facade. For all her posturing and moods, she is an innocent.

Here, in my arms, is the beautiful woman I have genuine affection for. More than affection. The one I want to make love with.


End file.
